The World's Deadliest Bridesmaid
by Jemmiah
Summary: QuiGon seeks to curtail Jemmy's alcoholic excesses after a disasterous Wookiee wedding.


**The World's Deadliest Bridesmaid**

By Jemmiah

He'd thought he'd been imagining it at first.

His sleep-addled brain alerted him to the repeated ringing of the door chime moments after the force had prompted him to waken up from the deep, peaceful sleep he'd been enjoying. Qui-Gon lay, eyes half-open, with his ears straining to catch the sound of the chime…

There it was again. Stabbed by a persistent and uncaring individual.

"If this is a joke by one of Obi-Wan's padawan friends," Qui-Gon growled to himself as he swung his legs over the bed, "they are going to live to regret the day they attempted such idiocy…"

Shrugging his arms into his long robe Qui-Gon stopped in the middle of the floor and tried to get a better picture of things in his own mind. The force quite clearly told him that Obi-Wan was happily sleeping through the din, which irked him completely. From outside the Jedi apartment block Qui-Gon allowed the force to reach out to the nuisance who was intent on ringing the chime until either their finger dropped off or the ringing mechanism ceased to function.

And now he had a pretty good idea who that individual was.

Tying his belt around him in frustrated, exaggerated fashion, Qui-Gon marched towards the door and, having taken a calming breath, allowed the door to slide back to reveal…

"Jemmiah."

The rather wan, pale-faced and piteous Corellian regarded Qui-Gon as if he were some unsurpassable barrier, which in many ways he was seeing as how he was standing blocking the doorway to his apartment.

"It's twenty minutes past two in the morning." Qui-Gon felt obliged to point out.

She didn't even acknowledge him, merely swayed unsteadily on her feet.

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

Jemmiah sighed.

"I can see that you are!" He put his hands out to steady her for fear that she would fall over. "I can smell it, too." He sniffed at her clothing, detecting the unmistakable odour of strong liquor on the fabric of her pale pink jacket and extremely scant dress. "Is that hooch I can detect?"

"How do you know what hooch smells like?" Jemmiah pouted, trying to tidy up the long chestnut strands that had escaped the pins woven into her hair, leaving her looking extremely bedraggled and worse for wear. "If you must know, I was at a wedding."

"That doesn't mean you have to get drunk!"

"I'm not drunk." Jemmy replied indignantly, looking longingly towards the empty couch in the living room. "Can I come in, please?"

"Why should I let you?" Qui-Gon folded his arms. "Given the way you're behaving?"

She looked up at him with confused, startled eyes. "Because I live here!" She answered in a tone that suggested he was a complete lunatic.

Qui-Gon didn't so much as blink. "No you don't. You live with Evla. Where you've lived permanently for the last five years."

Jemmiah tried to process that piece of information then dismissed it as immaterial.

"The ground is very unsteady at the moment. Are we experiencing a quake or something?"

"The ground is unsteady because you are on the point of collapse through alcoholic excess." Qui-Gon relented sufficiently to allow her to stagger into the apartment towards the couch. "And don't think that by allowing you in I'm condoning this behaviour! We will talk about this when you are in a fit enough condition to listen…"

"That might be some time." Jemmiah muttered, feeling her way across the room past the chairs and the table towards the much-desired couch. "Wookiees know how to party. And it was a pretty wonderful party, too. What I remember of it." She screwed up her face in the hope it might help her remember. "I vaguely recollect Mungo bundling me into an air cab…and then he sent me totally in the wrong direction, coz he'd had more to drink than me. Instead of the Jedi temple he sent me to some ruin on the other side of the planet…"

"The Saberine temple?" Qui-Gon frowned. "That_is_ on the other side of the planet, near enough! How did you afford the fare back?"

Jemmiah squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa, straining her mind to its limit, but no definite memory was forthcoming.

"I…I sold something?" She hesitated. "I think. I dunno…it's all a big blur to me. Damn Mungo for sending me in the wrong direction. I've a good mind to charge him…" Her eyelids began to droop in spectacular fashion.

"Sold?" Echoed Qui-Gon. "Sold what? Your necklace? Your rings?" He looked her over from head to foot, before adding a touch maliciously, "your virtue?"

"Naw…" Jemmy yawned hugely. "I'd have remembered that. I think…"

Qui-Gon shook his head. There was no point in holding the interrogation now when she could barely stay awake: it could wait until the morning. In the meantime he would leave a message for Evla to see when she came back from her shift in the crèche to let her know where her misguided ward had gone.

"You can sleep here." He gestured to the couch. "I would let you use the spare room but I don't think you'd make it through there without collapsing. I'll get you a blanket."

"No need." Jemmy groggily waved him away, sliding herself along the length of the couch. "Just…need…to…"

And with that the Corellian closed her eyes and fell instantly asleep.

Qui-Gon couldn't help but feel concerned. Having seen the way that she had been knocking back the drinks during the cantina crawl with the experience of hardened spacer, and now seeing the evidence of his own eyes lying sprawled senselessly upon the couch he couldn't help but wonder if she was destined to follow the same slippery path as Rela. He wasn't about to stand by and let someone else he cared about throw their life away in such a wasteful manner. Experience had taught him much, if a little too late.

He took off his robe and draped it over the sleeping form of Jemmiah, then walked back towards his bedroom, still greatly putout that Obi-Wan had managed to sleep through the whole escapade…

* * *

When the morning finally arrived Jemmiah was not in much better condition, certainly not well enough to undergo a sustained grilling as to the events of the previous evening. She'd looked only marginally more lively, her eyes were uncharacteristically red and sore looking and her makeup was looking decidedly smudged. Qui-Gon studied the pallid face for a moment before smiling to himself. Surely this was the exact lesson that Jemmiah need to learn? It wasn't that he was a vindictive man, but if a severe hangover was required to show her how not to behave then so be it. And given the strength of his concern for her wayward habits he really hoped her headache was unpleasantly bad…

"I think," he looked over his shoulder towards Obi-Wan's room, "we should have that talk now before the slug decides to slither out of his bedding, don't you?"

Jemmiah pulled a face that adequately expressed her desire to talk.

"It's for your own good." He sat down on the couch next to her. "So at least do me the favour of listening to what I have to say. And by the way," he smiled at her, "I think the dress is most becoming. If a little short and inappropriate for a wedding."

She squinted down at the low neckline and the extremely short skirt.

"It was the closest thing I had to white." Jemmy grimaced. "Wookiee brides wear white amongst their hair. Funny, but Corellians wear white for funerals. Maybe I'm just superstitious, I dunno." She rubbed at the bridge of her nose as if her sinuses were giving her some trouble. "I don't like to wear it but seeing as how I was a sort of unofficial bridesmaid…"

"It's not so much the dress as the behaviour that I'm worried about, Tangles." Qui-Gon reached over to the nearby table and picked up a glass of citrus. "Here, I got this for you. I thought you might need it. Hooch tends to dehydrate the body somewhat, as I recall. As does drink in general."

Jemmiah waited obediently for Qui-Gon to start his lecture, although feeling a second from death's door. What must she look like, she wondered? What kind of state had she gotten herself into? And just what had she said to him last night? Pensively she chewed at her lip. He didn't appear to be annoyed as such…perhaps a little sad. Troubled, maybe? Because of her? Because she'd spent one night out on the town?

"Last night," Qui-Gon ran a hand through his long hair as he stumbled for the right turn of phrase, "You were…well, let's not mince words. You were extremely drunk."

"I still am." Admitted Jemmy, feeling slightly ashamed.

"Indeed. And I need to know why you allowed yourself to get in this state. I'd also be interested to know how often you go drinking, and how much you indulge in."

She gazed down at the carpet. "I don't understand. You're making me sound like some kind of alcoholic."

"Aren't you?"

"No!" Jemmiah retorted sharply, wincing as a violent stabbing pain shot through her skull. "I enjoy a drink, I admit. But I don't have any desire to get drunk…this sort of happened by accident. I got carried away. Literally." She gave a contemptuous snort as she remembered the fireman's lift that the drunken Mungo had treated her to as he'd bundled her into the aircab.

"And all the other occasions, like the cantina crawl?"

"They were accidents too."

She wasn't about to make this easy for him, Qui-Gon realised. He somehow had to get her to see that even social drinking in excess could lead to untold problems later in life. Her expression, other than betraying pain and a degree of alcohol-induced nausea, was one of genuine confusion as if she had no real idea what she had done wrong - and that was what bothered him most.

"Tangles," he began, "Let me tell you about a very young, very bright young lady who had the world at her feet. Certainly, like yourself, she had an unpromising and unfortunate start in life. She fell into dubious company because she felt that those people were the only ones who valued her. It wasn't true, of course," he said hurriedly, "but that was how she felt. With so much to deal with so early on in life, and with the odds stacked heavily against her, she turned to alcohol for support."

"That's not going to happen to me." Jemmiah insisted. "I love my life. I love the second chance I've been given by you and Ben and Evla. If I overindulge from time to time it's because I want to celebrate my life…experience it to the full…"

"You don't need drink to do that, Jemmiah." Qui-Gon warned her gently. "There are other ways of enjoying life. You're so very young. Don't let that enjoyment turn sour. That's not living your life: it's throwing it away."

"Like this other person you mentioned?"

Good, he thought. She was interested enough to ask questions. That at least was a start. He needed to shock her. It wasn't that he wanted to cause her any lasting distress but the benefits might outweigh his unpleasant tactics. He'd once heard Dex Berlingside tell of how his master had sought to cure his habit of smoking strong Corellian tabac when he was a teenager by taking him for a trip to a local doctors surgery, and showing him the blackened, wizened lungs of a long-term smoker, preserved in a jar. It hadn't stopped Dex from smoking from time to time but the urge to do so on a regular basis had very quickly worn off.

"Imagine someone you love. Someone important to you." He insisted, knowing instinctively that she was picturing Obi-Wan in her own mind. "Now imagine that person drinking in cantinas every night, hitting the really heavy stuff. Think of them so drunk that they can't even function properly. Imagine them looking drawn and ill as they become more and more dependent on something they once claimed they didn't need in order to be happy. Picture them poisoning their own bodies every day and night, becoming aggressive, turning in on themselves because they have no friends left to help them. Can you see that? Can you think of this person's body slowly shutting itself down because it can't cope?" He saw her lip twitch in disgust. "Picture this person lying lifeless upon a mortuary slab."

"Stop it!" Jemmy turned her head away.

"Horrible, isn't it?" Agreed Qui-Gon. "Now, try and picture me or Evla looking down at you on a mortuary slab and tell me you want that to happen."

Jemmiah was clearly unhappy at his methods of confrontation, twisting and wringing her fingers repeatedly as he spoke.

"Of course I don't." She muttered. "But I _don't_ want to be told what I can and can't do! Yesterday was stupid. I admit it readily. I don't think I've ever been so drunk since that time Obi-Wan plied me with that wine when I was ten…and I'm paying for it now, believe me. And yes, I have my demons." Jemmy looked directly at him. "And they bother me. I won't deny it. But I don't seek to drown them in drink! I confide my problems to my diary. Maybe there will come a time when I won't feel I can cope, who can say? I can't see what's round the corner, even if you Jedi sometimes can."

"And if you can't cope I don't want you turning to something you already have a shocking familiarity with." Qui-Gon answered. "This is what bothers me most of all. You may see no harm in it now, and there may very well not be, but when one becomes so used to something one fails to see it as a threat…"

Jemmiah groaned and let her head fall back against the backrest of the sofa.

"Your friend did this, did she?" She asked him eventually, aware he was studying her intensely. "Did she kill herself with drink?"

"Thankfully not." Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "Although there were times when I despaired of the whole situation. She booked herself into rehab. To my knowledge she's not touched a drop of alcohol ever since, just as she vowed. But to say that it has wrecked her life would be an understatement. It's only due to her courage and determination, something she possesses in admirable quantities, that she has overcome these trials."

"Why do I feel like I'm the one who is on trial?" Jemmy grumbled, wondering if she could risk going home to Evla in such a mess.

"All I'm trying to say," Qui-Gon sighed, resolutely trying not to let Jemmiah change the topic, "Is that a combination of circumstance and bad luck nearly brought about her self-destruction. All because she felt the need to turn to alcohol in order to blot out the pain and confusion she was experiencing. Rather than confide her feelings to those who could have helped her she put her trust in the demon drink. It could have cost her life…"

Jemmiah regarded Qui-Gon with interest for a moment.

"I'm not going to end up like that." She promised him unwaveringly, her eyes not breaking contact with his own for a single second. "What you saw yesterday was just silliness…it was a party, for the love of the force! Not just any old party but a Wookiee party, too! Was I supposed to stand by at Gussie's wedding and not even toast the happy couple? Can I help it," Jemmiah's words became more impassioned, "if Wookiee's happen to like toasting special occasions with flagons of hooch? Okay, I confess that I had rather too much to drink…"

"You could hardly remember your name, let alone anything else." Qui-Gon pointed out unhelpfully.

"…But in the end I had to respect the Wookiee tradition rather than offend their rituals and customs. I was the only human there. I was the best 'honour sister'…"

Qui-Gon could feel the ground slipping from under his feet and with it every trace of his argument. He didn't know how she always managed it but inevitably she always wore him down until he gave in, for the sake of his sanity if nothing else. Best honour sister? That self-imposed title was all very well, but where had Flint and her so-called Wookiee army been when Jemmiah had needed a safe escort home? _That_ was what stuck in his craw most of all!

"You should have seen it." Jemmy gazed fondly at the table, as if somehow seeing a playback in her mind of the happy spectacle. "Gussie looked radiant. Inasmuch as an eight foot tall being covered from head to foot in hair and white lace can look radiant, that is. Dizzy turned up late for his own wedding ceremony and Gussie was on the edge of panic coz she thought he'd called off at the last moment. Just as Etthrikkkarra was threatening to hunt him down with a bowcaster and rip off his arms, Mungo and Mus managed to drag him to the Wookiee alter. It seems he'd had a bit too much before the ceremony, if you see what I mean." Jemmy tapped the side of her nose knowledgeably. "Mungo told him that it would give him some courage. But he was so drunk that in the end he could hardly stand up without assistance." She snickered insinuatingly. "I'll bet the wedding night was a real joy…"

"Ahem!" Qui-Gon coughed politely. "You are hardly in a position to talk. Need I remind you of the debauched state you were in last night? Coupled with the fact that you couldn't remember where you lived? Add to that your apparent general lack of memory…"

"I don't remember that." Frowned Jemmiah.

"You see! Now, I want your assurances that you won't make a habit of this. Promise me!" He leaned earnestly towards her from his seat on the sofa; his eyes softly begging her to not only say the words he wanted to hear but to mean them, too. "Don't give me the pain of seeing you going through the same misery as…my other acquaintance did. If you ever need to talk to someone, or if something is bothering you then you can confide in…"

"Evla?" Jemmy cut in.

"I was going to say me." He surprised her by admitting. "But Evla will do just as well. If as you say this was just a random act of foolishness at a party that got out of hand then I'm willing to believe you. I trust you." Qui-Gon gazed levelly back at her. "But please don't ignore my concern. It's easy to get a taste for that kind of lifestyle. You may not feel the need to drink - it may not be a compulsion - but before you know it these things can creep up on you. I don't want to see your life being ruined. You have so much potential, Tangles. Don't throw it away."

_Potential?_ Jemmiah snorted at the very notion. If she had potential then she was unable to see it. All through the years that Qui-Gon spent talking about her having the ability to go far Jemmiah had never for a moment considered that he was speaking truthfully, always assuming he was saying it to bolster her flagging spirits whenever she hit a rocky patch at school. The notion that she might actually have the skills to achieve something noteworthy in life was almost alien to her. She wasn't academically minded, despite her best efforts to catch up in subjects that she felt a natural revulsion towards. Perhaps if she'd had the benefit of proper schooling when she was a younger child things might have been different, but ever since arriving on Coruscant she'd struggled to make up the five lost years spent living in fear on Nargotria.

Lilith had given her the chance to do something with her life. If she had potential then it was shown to its best advantage on the makeshift, run-down swoop tracks of Coruscant. Somehow Jemmiah didn't think that was what Qui-Gon had in mind…

"She must be special," Jemmiah said casually between sips of citrus juice, "this 'friend' of yours. I rarely see you so animated…"

Qui-Gon looked towards the window, as if wondering what he should say.

"You know her." He ventured finally. "I speak of Rela."

The Corellian's eyebrows took a sharp hike towards the ceiling. She'd expected him to reveal the name of some former lover, kept secret over the years, or perhaps some juicy piece of scandal involving the Jedi. Come to think of it, a drunken Jedi didn't really bear thinking about…

But _Rela?_

"Sounds like she's led an interesting life." Jemmiah remarked.

"It's the kind of interesting life that I don't want to see you forced to have." Qui-Gon's reply was quietly stated, knowing he was far more likely to succeed in getting her to listen with a gentle plea rather than a direct command. Years of sporadic arguments and clashes of opinion had long since led him to believe that Jemmiah responded best to kid glove treatment, even although he sometimes felt her behaviour did little to merit it. "I'd do anything to ensure your safety, so I'll ask you not to follow in Rela's footsteps. Learn from her mistakes. She'd be the first to impress that upon you. I'm glad you both get on so well, even if you've known each other for only a short time. No doubt as you become closer friends she'll start to confide in you. But until that time, it's left for me to ask you to have greater respect for your welfare than I have recently seen evidence of."

"It was just a wedding…"Jemmiah allowed her words to trail away, and with it all trace of indignation. She'd never get through to him that to her drinking was about having fun, socialising with people and breaking down the inhibitions she might feel at talking with strangers. Drink wasn't something she used to blot out the pain with: she'd tried that once and it had gotten her in a bigger mess than she'd been in to start with. But to Qui-Gon, drinking in excess was still drinking no matter what the reason behind it. Obviously whatever had happened with Rela had hurt him deeply. Small wonder then if it clouded his judgement now.

And who could say that he wasn't right to let it?

"Look, I can't and I won't promise to stop drinking when I go out." Jemmiah put down the glass of citrus on the table before her and tried to reason with Qui-Gon as honestly as he had with her. "But I give you my word that I will take more care of myself and that I will make a conscious effort not to allow myself to get in 'a state', as you call it. Will that do?"

Qui-Gon nodded slowly, then smiled. Any concession won from Jemmiah was a small triumph in its own right, and if he'd piqued her curiosity over the problems Rela had suffered over the years then so much the better. She needed to see the pitfalls for herself. If it took using Rela as an example of what could befall a normal, lively, intelligent young lady when circumstance conspired against her then he had no qualms in doing so. He only hoped that Rela would understand why he had revealed some of the less desirable secrets of her murky past: he was certain that if the situations were reversed Jemmiah would most likely never speak to him again. Who could say, maybe they'd learn to confide in each other?

"Thank you." Qui-Gon reached forward to clap her warmly on the shoulder, as he always did to show his support. "That didn't hurt, did it?"

"Compared to how my head feels at the moment, nothing will ever hurt again." Jemmiah gave a cross between a moan and whimper, pressing her fingers to both temples. "I know, I know…self inflicted misery. You have no sympathy, right?"

The Jedi regarded Jemmiah with a mixture of fondness and rueful exasperation. He knew the misery of hangovers only too well. Everytime he and Dex and Mace went out on their annual jaunt things tended to be just a little hazy the following day. Even if the cause of Jemmiah's distress was indeed inflicted through personal choice it didn't mean he couldn't spare her a sympathetic wince or two.

"I have something that might help to counteract the worst of the headache." Qui-Gon sighed, standing up. "I'm sure the medi-cabinet will contain a temporary fix for your woes. Now, whilst I'm left fetching hangover cures, fixing breakfast, waking that slug of a padawan of mine and listening to messages on the holoterminal, I suggest you take it easy and try to repent your disastrous ways." He wagged a reproving finger at her, although clearly enjoying himself whilst doing so.

She gave another muffled whimper. "I don't need to repent. Okay, I'm slightly molassed but other than that I'm absolutely fine. You're lucky to have me around to remind you greater mortals how fantastic you are in comparison to we flawed, hapless beings…"

"I've never said the Jedi were flawless." Countered Qui-Gon as he stalked over to the holoterminal. "Nor have I ever intimated that we are superior beings in any shape or form. It's simply that we have an important role in the galaxy, sometimes with people's lives resting on how we act, and in order to be able to carry out our duties we have to be in a sober condition…."

He broke off as the activated holo message sprang to life. In the background Jemmiah merely groaned, clasped her hands over her ears, lowered her head towards her knees and prayed that the Wookiee hooch wasn't beginning to fight back. Hooch was one of the most wonderful, delightful, most sought after substances in the known galaxy, but right now both the wonder and the delight had well and truly worn off, and the only thing Jemmiah was considering searching out was the fresher. Her stomach was feeling well and truly queasy…

A minute passed in total silence. The next time Jemmiah looked up it was to find herself staring at two, brown clad legs. Slowly, out of pity for her poor head, she allowed her eyes to travel upwards until her gaze focused once more on Qui-Gon's stern features.

"I've just had a very interesting message from a Barrabel air cab driver." Qui-Gon affixed a hand firmly to each hip. "Ring any bells with you at all?"

Jemmy squinted up at him. "No, not really…"

"He says he'll be round in the afternoon to pick up the items you promised him in return for driving you all the way back to the temple."

"That's nice." Jemmy rubbed her bleary eyes.

"I wonder if you'll think it quite so nice when he tries to remove your left kidney without anaesthetic." Qui-Gon replied pointedly."

"Oh."

"And both of my kidneys…"

"Ah."

"Is that all you can say for yourself?" Qui-Gon's foot began to jiggle slightly up and down. "You sell not just your own body parts by somebody else's in order to raise the air cab fare?"

"Well…" Jemmy shrugged in a manner that suggested she was past caring. "I didn't think it would matter, frankly. Nobody's going to want my kidney's the state they are in. I'm lucky if either of them function at all after last night. And the trade on body parts is quite lucrative at the moment, at least that's what I think I remember being told as I got out the air cab. I'm still due some credits for the price we agreed on you…"

"Beginning to flood back, is it?" Qui-Gon asked through gritted teeth.

"Look, nobody's going to take on a Jedi. Not even an enraged Barrabel. And what else was I supposed to do in order to get the money to get back? Apart from the obvious," she muttered under her breath, "and frankly Barrabel's just don't do it for me. All those scales and little knobbly bits…"

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and counted to ten.

"Besides which, I thought you said you'd do anything to ensure my safety?" She huffed, standing up and clutching her head simultaneously. "The least you can do is give up your kidneys for me!"

And with that the Corellian hobbled over to the fresher room in search of the illusive hangover cure leaving a stunned and slack-jawed Qui-Gon staring after her.

He thought he'd seen it all with Rela. He thought he'd been put through the worst with Xanatos. He'd fretted over G'emela and watched over the injury prone Obi-Wan, and held hands and been in close attendance when the pieces needed picking up. He'd never really considered that he'd be picking up his own pieces after an exchange with an angry Barrabel demanding a share of his internal organs. Without a doubt, Jemmiah was the world's deadliest bridesmaid.

And if Qui-Gon ever needed any proof that drink was bad for a person's kidneys he now had it in abundance…


End file.
